When Mother's Day Is Difficult

"You who weep now will laugh again
All you lonely, be lonely no more
Yes the last will be first
Of this I am sure"
 - Flags, by Brooke Fraser 


It's interesting how most holidays can be either loved or loathed or are simply difficult, depending on a person's experiences. My favorite holiday is Christmas, and I could give a thousand reasons as to why, most having to do with the magical feeling of the entire Christmas season which springs, naturally, from childhood memories. Yet I've met people who, often because of being burdened with more painful memories, do not look on the holiday with fondness. The same is true of the most recently celebrated holiday: Mother's Day.


At church that morning, the entire service was about mothers.
"Raise your hand if you're a mother," the pastor said in Spanish. "Now we will pray a blessing over you, for motherhood is one of the most beautiful occupations on earth, a calling to love and protect and nurture."
"Everyone turn and hug your mother," he directed, and all throughout the large building (which holds about 500 people per service), individuals were embracing. Beside me sat two of the Casa Gabriel boys. Both of them have mothers, yet their mothers both have severe mental illnesses which have caused them to abuse, neglect, and ultimately abandon their sons. The boys visit when they can, yet it is a heavy-hearted time. As the sea of people around us smiled and hugged, I leaned my shoulder against the boy on my right, and he put his arm tight around me. I reached to the other boy and he grasped my hand, the three of sitting that way for several minutes, connected.

"It's not your fault," I thought to myself. "I know the pastor is making it sound as though every mother is loving and good, and maybe you feel that you did something wrong or weren't deserving of love for some broken reason, but it's not true. It's just how it is. You are still loved. You are so very loved. It's not your fault." 



A close of mine, on the other hand, was comforting a friend who lost her baby late last year. As with all grief, there are not enough why's in this lifetime to ever understand. So she was there for her, picking out special gifts and a place for them to go, letting her know that all these months later, on her first Mother's Day carrying the weight of loss, she was seen and heard and known. Her pain could not be taken away, but it was acknowledged. Sometimes, like sitting shiva, it is enough to simply be there.


To all of you who have lost a mother and spent the day remembering and aching; you are seen.
To all of you dreamed of being a mother yet had that dream crushed; you are seen.
To all of you who are a mother yet also hold the pain of miscarriage or another loss ...
To all of you who have a mother who didn't look out for you and love you ...
To all of you who have decided you won't be a mother and can feel guilty for this decision based on other people's expectations ...
To all of you who dream to oneway be a mother but aren't one now, maybe as you thought you would be, and feel confusedly caught in-between hopes ...
To all of you; mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, dreamers and mourners: you are seen. It's okay when it's not okay, when a day which is wonderful for so many is difficult and painful for you. You are seen and known.
You are loved.